A New Man
by 9randnote
Summary: Kurt runs into Dave in a familiar and yet unexpected place.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's a slightly longer Kurtofsky effort than my others. There are several further parts in the pipeline. It's set some time after the Gleeks senior year, so future-fic, non-con, some language, some new characters, maybe a little sexy times later on. Obviously, I don't own any of the wonderful sand in the sandbox Ryan Murphy **_**et al**_** have given us all to play in. Also, to pre-empt the inevitable torches and pitchforks, I don't **_**hate**_** Blaine, I just needed his character to be a certain way for events to unfold. Thoughts and comments appreciated.**

**Part one**

A crowded hallway in an American high school. As Kurt makes his way towards the choir room, he soaks in the activity around him, the chatter of teenage voices, the slams of lockers being shut, the scuffs and squeaks of shoes carrying students in all directions. He quirks a smile and hefts his leather satchel, sighting his destination ahead.

"Kurt?"

The voice alone stops him. It isn't the voice of one of the students. It's a deeper rumble. A man's voice, and something else, a familiar tingle creeps up his spine.

The afterschool bustle continues around him as he turns slowly to see who called him. A man approaches him through the crowd of teenagers, dressed in navy and gray sweats, tall, wide-shouldered and hammer-armed. A faded Marine Corps t-shirts stretched across a powerful chest. He moves far more gracefully than a man his size should.

Kurt silently scoops in these details as his gaze rises to meet a pair of piercing hazel eyes watching him from a few feet away. The face is broad and strong, dusted with stubble. _No. It can't be…_

"It is you!" The voice is quiet and deep, so different from the melodrama of the kids he's used to in this school.

David Karofsky. In the flesh.

"Karof… David!" exclaims Kurt suddenly, physically fighting an old urge to back away. 'Wha.. what are you doing here?"

He's changed so much. He's bigger, for one thing, taller and broader than in high school, and harder. The sweats- he must work here, gym or sports. His face though, something in the eyes, strength, but also something sad.

David palms the back of his neck and glances at the floor, suddenly shy. "I.. I just coach the school team down at the Y twice a week, I'm uh, just here to pick up the gear… uh, football. I help out with football." He trails off, and watches Kurt again.

"Do you.. do you teach here?"

Kurt hasn't moved. His stage training has taught him to strike a pose and keep it, not to give his audience too much while he plans his next action.

Kurt responds "No, I'm also just a supply teacher- I take the school glee club after classes, and some music lessons now and then."

The traffic in the hallway has subsided, since the school day is over. His glee kids will be waiting for him in the room a little down the hall. The _déjà vu_ of this scene makes him lightheaded. He's in a high school hallway, about to go to glee, and here, in front of him, is David Karofsky.

Almost eight years later.

The final bell fills the hall with a shriek, jerking the two of them out of their silent vigil.

Kurt twitches, eyes on Dave, and hikes a thumb behind him. "I need to go, my class is waiting…"

David likewise seems to wake from a trance, shuts his mouth and scratches the short curls on the side of his head. He nods, and offers a small smile. "Sure, yeah, I.. I need to get the gear.."

And yet neither moves.

Kurt's mind is racing. Who is this guy? The Dave Karofsky Kurt remembers was a sad eyed, scowling, yet penitent ex-bully. His final year at McKinley had been both triumph and tragedy- his victories on the sports field and academic successes, punctured by the fall out of his admission to being gay.

Kurt had tried to help, the entire glee club had- but it had all driven Karofsky further into… what exactly? Not the closet. His so-called best friend had seen to that. He had just seemed to fade away once the news was out and the hype died down. He was there, in the backs of classes, and there on the football field as required. It just seemed that all any joy had left his life. His best friend, Azimio had forsaken him, that much was known. Rumours flooded the halls and classrooms about his home life, and then, in the final weeks of high school, just before graduation, he had vanished.

Kurt makes a decision, needing to break this strange stalemate and get to glee.

"Dave, would you like to… get coffee sometime? I live... I live in the city, maybe we could grab a coffee and catch up? Maybe after one of your practices? I finish glee here at seven thirty Tuesdays and Thursdays. "

Dave stares at him for a second longer, and then blinks, as if Kurt's offer had reached his brain several seconds after his ears had reported Kurt's speaking.

"Sure! Sure, I'd love that…" he responds slowly, as if not completely sure he's heard right.

_Love_ thinks Kurt

Dave reaches a beefy arm into his pocket and draws out his phone. "Does your phone have touch-number?" he asks Kurt holding his phone out, dwarfed in his broad palm.

Kurt smiles and reaches for his own slim handset. "Of course," he grins, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. "Do you think these kids would listen to a word I said if I didn't have the latest technological whatever to boost my cred?"

Dave grins at this, and his face is transformed. Kurt doesn't think he's ever seen Karofsky smile, and he wishes suddenly he'd tried harder in high school to make that happen.

The two men fiddle with their phones for a second, preparing them to swap contacts, and then tentatively they reach out and tap their handsets together. Each emits a soft beep as the contact is accepted and stored.

Having moved closer, Kurt looks up into Dave's eyes, and doesn't miss the creases around them. Whether exhaustion, or something more, he realizes he's suddenly curious to meet Dave for coffee and maybe unravel some of the things that haunt his face.

Dave smiles at him, and backs off a little, pocketing his phone and leaning against a nearby locker. Kurt does likewise, and their eyes never leave each other.

"So, I'll give you a call about that coffee. I'm coaching again on Thursday, but I have to work on Thursday night. Could you maybe do Friday afternoon?"

Kurt nods. "Friday is great. I'm not teaching here, but I'll be available from four. Let me know where and when exactly, and I'll be there."

Dave huffs a small smile. "Cool" he says softly, eyes on the smaller man before him. Kurt is instantly thrown back to that day in the McKinley halls when a younger, softer Dave had sobbingly apologized to him, and they'd parted with the same word.

So much had happened before that moment, and so much after, but Kurt would let that lie for now until Friday afternoon when he'd meet this taller, wider and softer spoken David Karofsky for a coffee and a conversation.

Dave looked over Kurt's head suddenly, straightening off the locker. "I think your audience is getting restless." he points out gently. nodding down the corridor behind Kurt.

Kurt's eyes widen and he snaps his head behind him. One of the girls in glee is looking out the door down the hall at them. "Crap! I need to go," he offers Dave a sheepish smile, which Dave instantly returns.

"Sure, I'll let you know about Friday" he says as he begins to back off.

Kurt nods, and turns to head towards the choir room.

"…and Kurt!"

He stops and turns to hear Dave's parting words,

"Thanks… I'm, uh, looking forward to it" Dave is still facing him, dwarfing the lockers, smiling sheepishly.

Kurt nods at Dave, and smiles, "me too."

With that, they go their separate ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Kurt stops by the administration office after letting his ragtag glee club loose and finds Rhona alone working a late and finishing up for the day, as is usually the case with inner city public schools where numbers are huge, demands many, and resources stretched thin.

"Hey lady" he calls as he waits at the metal gate for her to buzz him in, waving a steaming paper cup at her. As usual, he's brought her a hot chocolate from the cranky vending machine nearby in the now empty faculty lounge.

"Lady!" she sasses him from behind her computer screen, the rest of her desk piled high with manila folders and forms. Her eyes gleam cheekily behind thick glasses, "get your hot little ass and that hot little drink in here!"

Kurt isn't a full time member of faculty at PS 4533, so he never regularly encounters other members of staff except for Rhona. Once a month he'll have a meeting with the music HOD, and the arts head, both frazzled individuals in way over their heads, where they'll discuss the outlines and performance profiles for students he teaches individually and in glee. Rhona, who is one of the school's longest running administrators, is the only other person he sees at the school semi-regularly, and by far the only one he'd consider a friend.

She reminds him so much of Mercedes, whom he hasn't physically seen in years but talks to regularly online. Mercedes went off to LA for college, hoping to break into the music industry there. She'd met success and failure like many of the McKinley gleeks had as they made their way in the world, and their chats still meant something special to Kurt; like an anchor in a time and place that seemed so strange and far away now. _Lima, O-H-I-O._ The same feeling that had crept over him encountering Dave in the hallway today.

Rhona herself wasn't musical, or artistic in any sense other than she appreciated creativity in people. She was as efficient and rigorous at administration and accounting as any school of the sheer size of PS 4533 could hope for. She was also fabulous. The first day he'd come by the office to submit some forms for HR, she'd recognized him from a terrible show he'd done off Broadway a few years before, and their casual friendship was born. Though she wasn't a mother, she saw all the kids around her as her own by proxy, though she could hardly be described as maternal towards the little 'miscreants' as she called them. They would never know the battles she led against the city and borough administration on their behalf to keep the school afloat.

Kurt leaned against a small open space on her desk as she navigated her computer and the piles of paper around her collecting the forms he needed to take away with him. Usually they would chat about shows or music, but more often Rhona would vent that day's frustrations with students and staff that had crossed her, people Kurt would never meet, but through her, felt he knew intimately.

As she steamed ahead through her days doings, a printer hummed behind her and Kurt listened with half an ear, mind still flickering through his meeting with David. An idea blossomed suddenly.

He waited until her diatribe reached a resting point and pounced on the pause in her speech.

"So, dish the dirt lady, what do you know about that football coach of yours, David Karofsky. He takes the kids down at the Y..."

Rhona's gaze leaves her screen and she observes him shrewdly, smirking. She leans back and fans herself dramatically.

"My sweet Lord, now _that_ there is a real big piece of man! Why you askin'?' I don't think he's buyin' what you're sellin'!" she snorts a laugh, and adjusts her glasses.

_Heh. If you only knew_, Kurt smirks.

Kurt knows better than to lie though, she'll see through it in an instant, so he offers her enough of a morsel that he won't be forced to divulge the full story until he's ready.

"I ran into him in the halls before my class is all. We actually went to high school together, a million years ago in Ohio…" He offers in as neutral and off-hand a tone as he can muster. _Not too much_, he thinks, _ju-ust enough_.

She regards him with less of a gleam in her eye, clearly off the scent. "Mm-hmm, I would like to run into that man every way from Sunday!" she hoots.

Kurt giggles along with her, rolling his eyes.

"Uh-huh. You go get him baby. No, I just wondered since we didn't get a chance to chat, and we were both going in opposite directions. It's been years…" he trails off, looking absently into the air nearby.

This seems to satisfy her. She smirks and returns to her screen, resuming her chatter.

"Well, Mr. Hunk-a-dunk is a cop, and war vet. We got him on the sports outreach program through the local police precinct- gives them somethin' to do few times a week that don't involve shootin' thugs and cleanin' out crack houses, and gives us ladies some eye candy on the sports faculty that aren't complete meat heads." She looks up at him briefly and winks conspiratorially.

She has Kurt's full attention, he listens intently as his mind begins to piece together the post-McKinley story of David Karofsky. War vet would explain the Marines shirt, and all of it, police, sports and military, would explain the sheer size and athleticism of the man, compared to the shuffling jock he remembers.

Rhona continues, pleased to have such a rapt audience. "So, we got him about eight months ago. I think he's been at the Precinct on 14th for about a year and a half, and I don't know when he was discharged from the army-"

"Marines," Kurt interrupts her, "he had a Marines shirt on." He blushes. _Shit. Caught._

Rhona cackles at this, eyes sharp and smile wide.

"Oh my lord and I'll bet you couldn't keep your eyes off that prime rack on him, could you lady?"

Kurt giggles as his blush deepens. He suddenly recalls thin cotton stretched over a powerful chest. _Semper Fi indeed._

"Hush your mouth, woman, and hurry up I need to get the 17!" he retorts in mock indignation, leaning back, a smile still plastered across his face.

Rhona just cackles on, and assembles a packet of forms for him.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I work full time, and I write incredibly slowly, so I'm going to pre-empt any inconvenience to you and say I'll try and post once a week. Operative word: try. Anyhoo, I have a good idea where this is going, so hopefully you'll stick with me and my snail pace rate of publication_

* * *

><p><strong>Part 3<strong>

As the uptown bus shudders through the night time city, Kurt clutches his satchel to his chest and thinks the day over, not really watching the gleaming, glaring lights of the city pass by. His mind is full of song set lists, edgy but passionate teenagers, plans for the rest of the week, and David Karofsky.

He hasn't been so taken by a single presence in a long time. Not since… _not since Blaine_, his mind offers as his brow creases. He shoves that particular mess aside for the moment and concentrates on Dave. The handsome behemoth that called out to him, and watched him shyly in the hall, and tentatively agreed to see him again for coffee. The guy that vanished out of their lives senior year, when their lives were just getting started.

_Is he handsome? Is he still gay? Oh my god, am I seriously gushing over this? Over him?_

_He's a cop? And a war vet. I wonder where he served. Surely Iraq? Is that still going on?_

Kurt's grip on current affairs is passing at best. He reads one or two of the e-dailies on bus and subway rides around the city, just to pass the time since the scenery is more than familiar by now. He knows enough about the world outside New York to hold together a conversation at one of the occasional parties or launches he attends. Well, used to attend. _No, not that, not now!_

Except he has to. Like it or not, Blaine is still a factor here, though _in absentia_. He has to think about where he and Blaine started going wrong, and where in the world Dave Karofsky dropped out of sight. It all comes back to senior year, McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio.

Senior year at McKinley was such a blur, especially now with the intervening years obscuring the memories. If he tries, he remembers countless glee rehearsals, glee performances, AP courses and soaking in all the hallmarks of one's final year of high school. Senior Prom, his return to the Cheerios, and Blaine, of course, it was all about Blaine.

The New Directions. They'd coasted through Sectionals, and just edged out the Warblers at Regionals. _Blaine was so depressed_. Nationals was a frantic but exhilarating saga of preparation and egos and Mr. Schue's calm and steady guidance throughout. Their triumph in Las Vegas was just unreal- the surrealistic culmination of three years of tears and drama and music.

Throughout the year there had been the usual torrent of relationship debacles: Rachel and Finn (obviously), Finn and Quinn (again), Quinn and Puck (again), Quinn and Santana (briefly), Mercedes and Robert (so new but so cute), Artie and Brittany (again), Rachel and Finn (finally), Artie and Sadie, Santana and Brittany (finally), the combinations flickered past like cards in a magician's deck. In fact he and Blaine, and Tina and Mike had been the only constant pairs throughout all that drama.

_But where was Dave?_ Kurt steps from the uptown bus and makes his way across the bustling plaza and down into the subway for the last part of his journey east to the Village. As he moves with the early evening crowd into the bowels of the city, he casts his thoughts back across that final period at high school, searching for sad hazel eyes and a worn-looking letterman jacket. Parts of that frenetic year float to the surface of his mind, and he attempts to fish those fragments that relate to his one-time tormentor out of the flood.

_After junior prom the Bully Whips fell apart almost completely. Santana lost interest completely. He remembered Dave had been distant after the Prom Queen/King debacle, and to be honest, the school had been so fixated on finals, and the glee club so fixated on Nationals in New York that bullying in general had dimmed to the odd smear of slushie on the floor, and the odd pair of sneakers dangling from the football posts, but nothing directed at the glee club at all._

_Concerned, Kurt tried to lure Dave out to a little used café off the interstate near Lima for a chat, thinking the anonymity of the place might calm the jock's nerves and bring him out of his shell a little. It was a disaster; Blaine had crow-barred his way into the meeting, and Dave had sat on edge, scowling the entire time while Kurt made apologetic chit-chat and Blaine glowered across the table protectively. There hadn't been another coffee date. Until now, Kurt muses, grimacing at the blank faces on the subway as the train shudders towards the river._

_There was some texting, especially after the coffee shack disaster. Kurt apologized profusely, and Dave brushed it off, unruffled and even humorous, much more expressive in text than he seemed to be in real life. Kurt insisted Dave talk to him, approach him, anything, if he wanted to discuss his secret, or anything. He'd lol and brush Kurt off gently. Kurt could remember that clearly, the replies had seemed so tentative, even tender. In the occasional hallway encounters, a small smile and a nod sufficed, but that was all there was._

_And then a month or so before senior prom it all went to hell. Later, Kurt interrogated Finn at length about the events that transpired, given it had all happened within the bounds of the football team. Azimio found out about Dave, somehow, and broadcast it to the team. The entire school knew mere moments later. Dave Karofsky is a queer. Kurt tried to go into battle on Dave's behalf, but fell uselessly against the glee jock-block and their determination to keep Kurt safe, and the Karofsky scandal contained. _

_The football team was on track for their second conference win, and given most of the starting line-up were in the glee club, their influence and determination to maintain a relative peace was insurmountable. Even a pitiful attempt at a backlash against Kurt was quickly contained by the glee jocks, now sporting the serious muscle of Mercedes' boyfriend Robert. And Dave just fitted into the middle of it, almost completely obscured._

_Kurt texted, he called, he facebooked, all to no avail. Blaine had some Warbler crisis, perfectly timed of course, and Kurt's priority compass pointed at Westerville until the saga between Blaine and Wes was resolved. Dave was there, of course, visible around the corridors sometimes, out on the field others; but between the glee jocks shielding him, and the radio silence from Camp Karofsky, Dave slid into obscurity. _

_Finn, Puck and the guys claimed he was doing okay, and hitting all his marks on the field. They never made the connection between Kurt and Dave, sealed in that locker room the year before, and Kurt wasn't going to add to Dave's woes if he could help it. _

_They were holding off the worst of the backlash in the locker room, Dave's value to the team was indisputable, despite questions surrounding his sexuality, and to be honest, few of McKinley's jocks would take on Dave Karofsky head on. So, Kurt dealt with Blaine, and Finn et al assisted Dave, and McKinley's two resident gays orbited each other silently, miles of space separating them._

_Then it was prom, and the madness of Nationals, and when Kurt looked again, Dave was gone. None of the glee guys had a clue. Coach Beiste said he'd transferred. Kurt tried his number, but instead of voicemail, there was the infuriating tone of a disconnected number. He vanished from Facebook. Even his erstwhile 'girlfriend' Santana had no idea. Bitch. Gone to Virginia, was the best he could uncover, courtesy of a puzzled Mr. Schue. Then Carole, Kurt's stepmother and Finn's mother, got pregnant, and there'd been all that joyous hysteria, and Dave Karofsky disappeared from Kurt's thoughts altogether._

The subway train shudders to a halt at Kurt's stop, and so, to an extent, does the Dave-Karofsky-Memory-Lane-Express. Kurt surfaces into a busy Tuesday evening in the village. He visits the Chinese restaurant on the corner near his block, and collects his usual steamed chicken and vegetable chow mein, with a smile to Amy the server. It's business as usual as he summits the four stories of his building and presses his thumb to the worn reader at his door.

The only light in his small apartment is the glow from his study lamp, which he leaves on during the day in order to illuminate his return in the evenings.

The message light on his i-hub is blinking and chiming softly. In his head he knows who the waiting message is from. Messages even. Usually there are at least two waiting for him at the end of any day, usually one from his Dad and Carole, certainly one or two from Blaine.

Kurt eats his Chinese, takes a long shower, prepares for bed, and finally, with a sigh, approaches the i-hub. He presses the small glowing screen, and there's a sniff, and a sob.

"_Kurt? Baby?...*_sniff* _I miss you…"_

Blaine is in a rehab facility in Maine, one fancy enough to allow inpatients regular use of the phone. He calls Kurt at least twice a day, and every call shatters Kurt's heart a little more.

He presses delete on the i-hub console. Blaine's other message from the morning loads.

"_Hey Kurt baby!"_ He's chipper, "_how are you this fine morning?"_

The chipper tone alone is enough to reduce Kurt to tears. At least, at first that was the case. Now Kurt just goes numb. It goes like this every day. Sometimes it's the Blaine he remembers. Most other times it's another Blaine altogether. Sometimes there are accusations, sometimes pleading, and other times, rational conversation. He tries to return Blaine's call at least once every two days, knowing that keeping the communication lines open will aid Blaine's recovery, knowing that despite leaving him when the addiction became unmanageable, an ultimatum at the very nadir of their many years together, Blaine still holds a piece of his heart, and he can't _won't_ let the boy he loves _loved?_ slide into the abyss of addiction alone. _I can't lose him. Can I?_

The message continues, some babble about group therapy and music sessions, something.

Trembling a little, Kurt reaches out and deletes the message. Blaine's voice cuts out with a chime from the unit. Kurt clenches his eyes shut. The last six months weigh heavy on him.


End file.
